


An Abyss of His Fears

by SaibraRutherford (ScottishVix)



Series: Once We Were [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adamant Fortress, Anger, Angst and Feels, Bad omens, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-21 17:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7396105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottishVix/pseuds/SaibraRutherford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen has a bad feeling as he watches Saibra enter Adamant...</p>
<p>Takes place during Chapter 26 of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6594430">Love in the Time of Corypheus</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadowpyxy_pyxydust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowpyxy_pyxydust/gifts).



> For [shadowpyxy_pyxydust](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowpyxy_pyxydust) whose comments inspired this. You were waiting for angst...
> 
> Special thanks to my very own Varric, Andy, who rushed reading this so I could get it out quickly. He doesn't _actually_ beta my work (all errors are my own), but I trust him to tell me if my writing is terrible before I post it.

Saibra had been the first round the battering ram and into the Bailey, but Cullen had been sure to stick next to her while they waited for his siege weapon to do its work and was right behind her. There hadn’t been time for much more than quick professional words, but they had both known the deeper meaning behind them. 

“We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can.” _I’ll take as much of the danger from you as I can._

“I’ll be fine. Just keep the men safe.” _Don’t worry about me. I want you safe._

“We’ll do what we have to, Inquisitor.” _I don’t like letting you run into danger but if I must, let me take what risks I can to make it safer for you._

He knew he’d repeated information they’d gone through in the planning meetings; information she knew by heart as well as he did. But she had let him because she knew it made him feel better. And then she had done something that chilled his blood as it warmed his heart – she brushed his cheek with her fingers in exactly the same way that she had the night Haven fell. Thank the Maker she hadn’t said goodbye. Instead she’d lowered her voice so none of the small strike team that would be joining her could hear and whispered, “Stay safe for me, beloved.”

He hadn’t had time to reply before she had darted off into the keep, calling for her companions to follow. Cullen had stood there frozen for a moment as Bull raced by shouting war cries in Qunlat and Varric had saluted him with Bianca. He didn’t think Saibra realised what she’d done – the ominous echoes that touch would bring. Saibra was a tactile woman, but usually when she touched his face it was fingertips to his forehead to soothe a headache, tracing the hated scar on his lip when they lay in each other’s arms after making love, or grabbing him with both hands when she wanted a kiss. That terrible night in Haven had been the only time she had touched him in that way before. And somehow it felt like a terrible omen.

“Commander!” Rylen’s shout had called him back from the spiral of panic he could feel rising inside him. “Our forces are ready for the charge.” 

“Thank you, Knight-Captain. I’ll lead them myself.” He couldn’t stand in the courtyard waiting for her to come back. He was a solider and a general, didn’t have time for irrational imaginings and reading nonsense into a simple affectionate gesture. His job now was draw the enemy’s attention from where she was. Saibra was counting on him.

**********

Cullen felt like he’d been fighting for days, battling against the combined forces of Grey Wardens and demons. In fact, it had only been an hour since their battering ram had breached Adamant’s main gate. Just an hour since he’d last seen Saibra racing off into the fortress with her friends. 

He slid his sword from the gut of a Warden mage who’d tried to decapitate him with a spirit blade and whirled, looking for the next enemy. But none came. He appreciated these lulls that always happened in a battle, when you had managed to manoeuver outside the thick of the fighting or the enemy had withdrawn to regroup. They never lasted long, but the chance to draw breath and take stock of the situation was always welcome. He drew a quick swallow of water from the canteen hanging at his waist and flexed fingers stiff from their death grip on his sword and shield. He was about to call out to Rylen for a casualty report when a hideous shriek echoed overhead. Cullen looked up in dread to see Corypheus’ dragon swooping towards the main courtyard of the Keep.

_Maker’s breath, it’s after Saibra!_

He quickly scanned the group of soldiers around him. They were all people he knew, trusted, veterans of battles both with and outside of the Inquisition. “Rylen, Andrew, Kristophe, and Lysette with me. The rest of you, keep these demons busy. We don’t need them helping that beast.”

He led the group of soldiers through the keep, trying as best he could to remember the old plans for the fortress Leliana had found. By the time he made it into the central courtyard, Saibra and the dragon were gone and the Grey Wardens were fighting one another, warriors against mages. A very young, very frightened looking Warden dashed up to him.

“The Warden Commander told us to help the Inquisition, but the mages have gone mad!” he squeaked out.

“Where is the Inquisitor?” Cullen demanded. The part of his brain that was always the Commander knew he should be giving orders and reassuring these men that had suddenly found themselves fighting their comrades, but the panic he had felt when Saibra had touched his cheek in the bailey had returned full strength. He needed to see she was safe.

“Sh- she went after the Warden Commander and Magister Eremond.” At Cullen’s glare the poor boy pointed through an archway to one side of the courtyard. “That way, Ser.”

“Rylen,” Cullen spun to his second, “aid the Wardens. I’m going after the Inquisitor.”

Rylen could be as insolent as Varric when he wanted to be, but this time he simply snapped off a quick salute and a “Yes, Ser!” before turning and bellowing orders at the nearby Wardens and Inquisition soldiers.

Cullen was halfway up a flight of stairs when the whole fortress began to shake uncontrollably. He had to grab onto the stone balustrade to keep himself from tumbling backwards. Gripping on for dear life he was looking directly at his hands when the runes glowing on his silverite cuff flared and went dark.

He barely recognised the anguished scream as his own. He hauled himself up the stairs, raced around the corner and into his worst nightmare. The body of a woman he recognised as Warden Commander Clarel was lying broken and bloody at the edge of what had once been a bridge between two wings of the fortress. As he watched, the dragon rose up in the space where the bridge had been. It let out a long, angry screech before turning and flying off into the night. It was then Cullen noticed the dark-haired, moustached man lying to one side, groaning in agony.

Cullen hauled the dazed man up by the collar. “Where is she? Where is the Inquisitor?”

Barely conscious, the Vint still managed to laugh in his face. “Dead. Corypheus will reward me well for this.” He spat a mouthful of blood at Cullen’s feet. “Your precious Inquisitor went over the edge with all her pathetic friends.”

Cullen wasn’t even thinking as he pulled the knife from his belt, wasn’t in control of his actions as he raised the blade to the man’s throat. It was only Leliana’s strangled cry of, “Cullen, no! We need him alive!” that brought him back to himself. Without a word he flipped the blade and struck the Magister’s temple with the hilt. He dropped the man seconds before his own knees hit the stones.

“She’s gone. I failed her. Saibra’s gone.” He could hardly understand the words coming from his own mouth. The one person that had made his battles against lyrium bearable, the woman he loved more than he had ever loved anyone, gone in a moment. How could he tell Vastra that he had lost her? Maker, how could he tell Marie and Kitty their beloved Auntie Sai was never coming home? Leliana dropped to her own knees next to him, grabbing for his hand.

“All is not yet lost. My men report that there are no signs of any bodies below and seeing a rift open and close as the bridge collapsed.”

Cullen stared into the spymistress’s almond eyes, hardly daring to hope. “What are you saying?”

Leliana took a deep breath. “I don’t know. But I believe she may have entered the Fade again.”

He felt the breath rush out of him as a tiny flare of hope sparked in his heart. If anyone could physically enter the Fade twice and survive, it would be his Saibra. It was so unlikely, so utterly improbable. But Saibra had been doing the impossible every day since she had first stepped out of the Fade and into the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He had to cling to that one, tiny flicker of hope, or he would drown in the despair that had been flooding him in waves since his bracelet had first gone dark.

Leliana seemed to sense the change in him and stood, pulling Cullen to his feet with her. “There’s still fighting to do, but your men can handle it. Take him,” she nudged the unconscious Magister with her foot, “back to camp and secure him. If- _when_ – the Inquisitor returns, she’ll want to judge him herself. In the meantime, maybe I can get something useful out of him about the Elder One’s plans.”

Cullen nodded silently. It seemed logical enough. He knew himself well enough to know he was in no fit state to lead his men right now. Stooping, he slung Erimond over his shoulder and headed back the way he had come.

Saibra would return to him. She had to.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Cullen wouldn't leave me alone until I told the rest of this story. 
> 
> Seriously, only I could add a second chapter to what was meant to be a one shot and make it longer than the first part.

The walk back to camp was long and painful, in more ways than one. Even though he wanted nothing more than to kill _something_ , to externalise his pain into action and make the people responsible for Saibra being missing suffer the way he was, Cullen had to dodge what fighting he could. For one, he could not fight with an unconscious Magister slung over his shoulder and he would not risk putting the man down in case he awoke and made good his escape. For another, the rational part of his brain told him he was too upset to be anything but needlessly reckless. 

He had no desire to live in a world without Saibra Trevelyan and if he were to engage in fighting now he would take too many risks, could get himself killed. That, more than anything, he knew, was why Leliana had sent him back to camp with Erimond. If Saibra _had_ survived the fall, was alive either under the rubble of the collapsed bridge or somewhere in the Fade, he had to be there for her to come back to. She would need him. 

So, he dodged skirmishes and paused, hidden in shadows while running battles passed him by. It went against his every instinct as a soldier, but if giving up lyrium had taught him anything, it was that he could endure a great deal. The battle seemed less intense now anyway, concentrating on the courtyard where he had left Rylen in command. Maybe after this, Rylen would think of commanding Griffon Wing Keep as a welcome rest.

Then there was the physical pain. While he had not taken any specific injuries in the charge on the keep, he had taken the inevitable battering and his bruises were now making themselves felt. The muscles in his arms were screaming from the strain of keeping his grip on the staircase as the bridge collapse had shaken the fortress. He wasn’t sure how much of the pain in his joints was from the fighting and how much was his body pleading for lyrium. That was certainly what had caused the headache pounding away behind his eyes. And Erimond was a dead weight. Cullen almost regretted knocking him out, but awake the Venatori would have been unbearable in his certainty of Saibra’s demise and Cullen didn’t think he would have been able to keep from killing the man, however important the information Leliana was sure she could extract from him.

As he reached it, the recruits he had left to guard the camp went from slumped to rigid attention. They were the youngest and greenest of the men and women under his command and he knew they would have spent the battle resentful and angry at missing out on the blood and glory of taking the old Grey Warden fortress. He could easily imagine himself feeling the same way in their position ten years ago, before the Blight. Before Kinloch. They would soon learn better when the dead and wounded began arriving. And the job of keeping their camp secure, the supply lines open and protecting the healers as they waited for incoming casualties was a vital one, not just makework for raw recruits.

Cullen tried as best he could to know all the men under his command, but this wasn’t a Circle where he had fewer than one hundred subordinates; the justice and rightness of the Inquisition’s cause meant the numbers of soldiers under him was now close to one thousand spread all across the Southern continent. 

“Glover,” he snapped to the first recruit whose name came to his mind, “with me.” The young man almost stumbled, so keen was he to serve the Inquisition’s commander. Cullen would have smiled at the lad’s eagerness if he wasn’t still so worried. “I want a guard rotation established for this man,” Cullen rattled off, thinking quickly about what he would need. “No less than four men with him at all times. Do we have any Templars left here in camp?”

“Yes, Ser.” Glover was breathless as he followed Cullen into an empty tent they had established for captured enemy combatants. “Ser Suzette and Ser Ellis. Ser,” the boy added as an afterthought.

“Make sure that one or other of them is in the tent with him at all times,” Cullen dropped the Magister unceremoniously on the ground and swept the tent for the manacles he knew would be there. Finding them, he quickly secured the Vint’s hands and feet, pocketing the keys. When he looked up, the boy was still standing there. “Well get to it,” he snapped, patience worn thin by pain and worry. Glover almost tripped again in his haste to get out of the tent.

Cullen sighed in frustration and annoyance. The lyrium headache was getting worse by the minute, but he shouldn’t have shouted at the lad. It wasn’t his fault Cullen was worried, in pain, and more fearful than he had been in a long time. He ran his fingers lightly over the darkened runes etched into the silverite band. Normally, it was an action he took a great deal of comfort from when separated from Saibra. Now, it just made his heart ache.

It was only minutes before Glover returned with a Templar Cullen recognised as Ser Suzette, but it felt like hours. “This man is responsible for today’s atrocities. When he awakes none are to speak to him, but send for Sister Leliana so she can question him. He is not to be harmed. The Inquisitor will judge him when we return to Skyhold.” He hoped that wasn’t a lie.

**********

Cullen knew he couldn’t return to the fighting but still hadn’t been able to stay in camp waiting for word. Instead he had sought out the healers and offered to escort a group of them to assess and triage the wounded outside the fortress where the fighting was thinnest. Co-ordinating a group of recruits to assist him had taken time and given his brain another focus, though worry for Saibra was ever present at the back of his mind.

They were almost at the walls when a roar echoed out from the fortress. For a moment, Cullen feared the dragon had returned before he realised it was people cheering and calling out “Inquisitor!” A glance at his wrist showed the runes sparking to life and his heart leapt.

He snapped at his recruits to stay with the healers before dashing into the bailey alone. He had to see her. His passage through the keep was hampered by the crowds trying to get out, Wardens and Inquisition soldiers helping wounded friends and comrades to leave. Fighting against the tide, he finally caught sight of Rylen, arm around a limping Lysette. “Where is she?” he begged the Knight-Captain, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.

“Main courtyard, Ser. She’s taken the Wardens into the Inquisition. More warriors for us.” Rylen grinned wickedly. “No offense, Ser, but your girl sure knows how to make an entrance. How many times is that she’s jumped out of the Fade now?”

Cullen grinned back. If Rylen was teasing him, Saibra was fine. She was well and safe and he just had to get to her. He began pushing his way through the crowds now, grateful as they began to thin the closer he got to her, heart swelling with joy. Saibra was alive.

All heads raised when he burst into the courtyard. He scanned it rapidly, heart dropping when he couldn’t find those sapphire eyes. It dropped further when he took in her companions. Battered and spattered with demon ichor, they looked like they had been defeated rather than emerged from the Fade triumphant.

He couldn’t speak, through the fear that suddenly roared through him. A hand on his elbow made him jump and he looked down to find Hawke looking up at him, green eyes full of sorrow and compassion. “The Inquisitor is safe, Cullen. But you should know what happened. She’ll need your strength.”

He allowed Hawke to lead him to the dais steps and pull him down to sit next to her. “You were in the Fade?” he asked, when the Champion seemed unsure where to begin.

Hawke nodded. “It wasn’t pretty, Cullen. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a powerful demon.” And she told him everything. The demon taunting them with their deepest fears. Fighting fearlings disguised as creatures from their nightmares (she shuddered as she told him that hers looked like giant spiders). The spirit of Divine Justinia and recovering her memories. “It’s shaken her faith, Cullen. She had begun to believe she was sent by Andraste and now she knows she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, she’s hurting.”

“Andraste did send her, even if she acted through Justinia.” Cullen’s faith was unshakeable. “There’s no one else who could have done what Saibra has done.”

Hawke looked at him curiously. “You truly love her, don’t you?” she asked. “I knew you did; I just hadn’t realised how much before.”

“More than I’ve ever loved anything,” he confessed flushing, unable to look at her. 

“I’m glad, Cullen. After everything, you needed someone to show you some kindness,” she grinned at him. “Though to be honest I’m surprised you let anyone get near enough to show you any kindness. She’s changed you, Cullen. For the better, I think.”

“She’s saved me, Marion. In more ways than I think anyone will ever know.”

Hawke looked at him curiously. “From what Varric tells me you’ve done just as much for her. And she loves you, too. She panicked, you know. When she realised that your band must have gone black. That was what kept her going, through everything. She wanted to get back to you, let you know she wasn’t dead.”

Cullen stood then, the desire to hold her stronger again. “Then I should go to her. Where is she?”

Hawke jumped up and grabbed his arm. “There’s more.” He turned back to her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. “I screwed up, Cullen. I’m sorry.”

Dread began to gnaw at his insides again. “What did you do Hawke?” he asked warily.

“The Inquisitor had pushed the others on ahead when the Nightmare got between us and the rift. Someone had to stay and distract it. Stroud said it should be him, to restore the honour of the Grey Wardens. But… Corypheus was my responsibility! I was the one who freed him! We… Saibra had to choose.”

Cullen felt a red rage descending over him. “You did _what!_ ” he bellowed. For the second time in as many hours his hand raised of his own accord.

“Curly, no!” Varric couldn’t reach his raised fist but grabbed his other arm. The dwarf was half Cullen’s height and weight, couldn’t have prevented Cullen doing anything he liked. But it was enough to clear at least some of the angry mist from his head. He whirled and with a furious roar slammed his fist into a stone pillar. 

The pain of broken knuckles cleared the rest of the rage. He could hear Hawke still apologising, Varric trying to calm them both. He took a few deep breaths before he felt able to speak. “It’s okay, Varric.”

“Anger twisting with guilt. Should have been there. Should have protected her. The bird was stupid, but it was the lion who failed.” Cole’s watery eyes peered at Cullen from under the brim of that ridiculous hat. “You each take all the blame and so does she, but none of you made the Nightmare? Why is it your fault?”

“It is not, ma falon.” Solas had joined the group. He gestured to Cullen’s bloody hand, already beginning to bruise. “Commander, may I?”

Cullen hesitated. The only person he wanted healing him was Saibra. But she couldn’t see him this way right now. She would need him to be strong so she could lean on him. Slowly he nodded and held the hand out to the elf. As always with anyone but Saibra, the use of magic on him, made the residual lyrium in his blood sting and hiss, but Solas was a strong healer and it was done quickly.

Cullen turned to Hawke again. She still couldn’t quite meet his eye, but she managed to stand unflinchingly under his gaze. “What you did was unbelievably stupid. You know what it is for people to ask you to make an impossible choice like that. But…” he took a deep breath. “I _do_ understand, Marion. I forgive you.”

He had wasted enough time. “Cole,” he turned to the spirit boy, “do you know where the Inquisitor is?”

Cole closed his pale eyes. “My fault. A good man gone at my command but still they call me ‘hero’. Maker, but it’s my fault. Where is Cullen? He can chase away the dark.” The pale eyes snapped open. “She’s outside the East wall. It’s quiet there.”

“Thank you, Cole.” Raising his voice so the group as a whole could hear he ordered them back to camp. He would bring Saibra soon. They would need to debrief him and Leliana on exactly what had happened and he was sure Solas would be needed in the healer’s tents.

But for now he wasn't sure whether he had most need of Saibra, or she of him.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has two heart-to-hearts as he waits to see if Saibra will wake up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a little one-shot became a three parter. And each part longer than the one before. *shrugs* Oh, well.
> 
> Many thanks to Alerta. for the prompt. If anyone else wants to send me a prompt leave a comment here or on _Love_ or email saibrarutherford@gmail.com. 
> 
> I love my readers!

It had been a full day since Saibra had fallen out of the Fade again. A full day since she had cried out her guilt at Stroud’s death into his shoulder. A full day since he made his mad dash back to the camp with her limp in his arms. A full day since Solas had calmly informed him that she had been poisoned by demon blood and may not live . In that time Cullen had not left her side.

Others had come and gone. Solas visited every few hours to check on her and leave a fresh restoration potion for Cullen to spoon into her mouth. Dorian came almost as often to conjure the ice needed to help fight her fever. Most of Saibra’s inner circle visited under one pretence or another. The biggest surprise had been Sera. She had thrust a flask of ale and a slab of cheese into his hands saying, “Inky would want you eatin’.” Then she had ordered the unconscious Saibra to, “Wake up so’s I can be mad at you,” and fled the tent. 

By contrast Cole’s absence was so conspicuous that Cullen asked Solas about it. The elven mage’s smile was sad. “He can do nothing to help her and, by extension, you. As such your worry for the Inquisitor is too painful for him to be around.” The mage had bowed and left then, presumably to help with the other wounded.

Late on the first night Leliana had brought Hawke and Cassandra so the advisors could be properly debriefed on what had actually happened in the Fade. Cullen had listened and taken it all in silently. He knew that if— _when_ —Saibra woke he would need to know what she had endured, if only so she would not have to relive it for him. He had heard most of it from Hawke already so while Leliana asked questions Cullen held Saibra’s hand and focused on bathing her hot forehead.

When the others left Hawke had lingered. “Cullen, I’m so sorry-“

“It’s okay Marian,” he cut her off. “This isn’t your fault. This is Saibra being… Saibra. So busy worrying about everyone else that she doesn’t even notice she’s injured.“ He knew his wry smile hadn’t reached his eyes; Hawke wouldn’t have expected it to.

“I wish I could stay until she wakes up,” Hawke admitted. “I’ll be stopping in Inquisition camps and taking ship from the Storm Coast. Will you send word when…”

“Of course,” his reply was instant. “I’m sorry about Stroud. And my… behaviour earlier.” He found his hand on the back of his neck and pulled it away. “I should not have lost control like that. It was unforgivable of me.”

Hawke waved him off with a smile. “Already forgotten. We’d all been through the wringer. It…” She paused, searching for words. “It hasn’t really sunk in yet that he’s gone. But an epic battle, single-handed against impossible odds? I can’t see him going out any other way.” She had leaned over then and kissed him on the cheek. “Be well, Cullen,” was whispered in his ear. And then she was gone.

He had spent the rest of the night sleeplessly praying, begging Andraste to intervene and save her devoted servant. Saibra’s quiet, unassuming faith was just one more thing that drew him to her. If what Cassandra said was true–if Saibra had been saved by Justinia rather than Andraste–her faith may be irrevocably shaken. He hoped not; if anything it had strengthened his. He had always had trouble believing that Andraste would have intervened directly to rescue Saibra. That she had acted through the Divine seemed far more plausible.

It was two hours after dawn, around the time when the day before he had sat Saibra on his knee and told her she was blameless, that Cassandra slipped quietly into the tent.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she told him softly when he looked up at her.

“You’re not,” Cullen assured the Seeker, indicating to the spare chair Saibra always kept in her tent in case of visitors. “I’m expecting Rylen with a casualty report any minute.”

“Is she…?”

“No change,” he sighed, brushing sweat-soaked hair from Saibra’s forehead. “She’s not getting worse, at least. But if she can’t break this fever…”

“The Inquisitor is a fighter, Cullen. She will come through this. We must have faith.”

Cullen simply nodded. He wondered why Cassandra had really come. She was not the type to quietly sit and pray by a sickbed. Then again, before Saibra he would have said the same of himself.

“Do you remember,” she began tentatively, “what Hawke and I said of the Graveyard of Fears in the Fade?”

Cullen considered carefully. The Graveyard had been one of the things that Hawke hadn’t told him of when they spoke. Cassandra had reported it in the debriefing later. “A tombstone for each of the Inquisitor’s companions indicating their greatest fear,” he replied at last. “What of it?”

“I know we agreed that we would not speak of anyone’s fears without their consent. But… Cullen, I think you need to know what was on the Inquisitor’s stone.”

“If _Saibra_ wants me to know,” Cullen began, emphasising her name, “she will tell me in her own time. This is a personal matter, not one for the Inquisition.”

“I disagree.” Cassandra was insistent. “Commander, you know I have no issue with you and the Inquisitor being in a relationship. If you can salvage some happiness out of this mess, you should. Maker knows you both deserve it. But there are always going to be times when your desire to protect one another will clash with your obligations to the Inquisition.”

He found he couldn’t argue. There were a thousand things he should be doing around the camp right now. Instead he was ensconced in the Inquisitor’s tent while his lieutenants did all the work. 

Cassandra must have read his thoughts in his face because her voice was softer when she continued. “There are also times when love should come before duty . Your men know where to find you if you’re required. You are where you need to be.”

“Thank you, Seeker.” While Saibra’s life was still endangered he could not say he felt relieved, though he did feel suddenly lighter. “But you were speaking of Saibra’s fears, not my own.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “As her advisor, I believe Saibra’s fear may affect her decisions as Inquisitor. As her friend, I know she won’t tell you for fear of hurting you.”

That confused Cullen. “What could Saibra possibly be afraid of that would _hurt_ me? Templars?”

“Red Cullen.”

It was probably the only thing Cassandra could have said guaranteed to stop his heart in his chest. For a moment Cullen couldn’t even remember how to breathe.

Cassandra filled the silence. “She has seen what has happened to those of the Order who have taken red lyrium. And she has borne witness to the worst of your… struggles. Those combined could not do anything but frighten someone who loves you.”

Cullen stared unseeingly at his friend for a long moment. He could see now why she was concerned. If the Inquisitor was afraid for her Commander’s health, would she be able to send him into battle? What would she do if they were caught in a fight and she felt the red lyrium was a threat to him? “What do I do?” he asked at last. 

“Talk to her, Cullen,” was Cassandra’s assessment. “Talk about this fear of hers and talk about your…” She fumbled for a word. 

“Addiction,” Cullen filled in for her bluntly. “Call it what it is, Seeker. I am a lyrium addict. Soft words won’t fix that.”

“Then talk to Saibra about your addiction. If she knows all that is happening with your health she will worry less.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “She was a healer before she was Inquisitor. I know she would feel better if you allowed her to help you.”

“I _am_ trying,” he argued. “It is not easy.”

“Try harder. ”

He opened his mouth to argue and closed it again. Could he do better? He never wanted to worry Saibra. She had enough on her plate. “Where do I start?” he asked, bewildered by his own lack of direction. He was a man who always had a plan of attack; he was lost when he couldn’t see a way forward.

“Start by telling me how you are _now_. Have you eaten?”

He indicated the almost empty plate. “Sera brought me a meal. She said Saibra would want me to eat.”

“For once, I agree with her.” Cassandra almost smiled. “Did you know she thought I should take up punching bears as a hobby?”

That brought an involuntary bark of laughter. “What for?” 

“She thought if it wasn’t part of my training I would want to see if I could. For fun.” She laughed softly to herself, then came back to the initial conversation. “How are you physically?”

“The headache is…” he considered carefully. “Manageable,” he settled on truthfully. It was still there, pounding away behind his eyes, but he only noticed it if he thought about it. “I was nauseous earlier, but it passed once you returned from the Fade. I will admit to feeling rather stiff, though.”

She nodded. “I’m not surprised when you insist on wearing that ridiculous breastplate all the time. Take it off and bathe. You smell dreadful.” Cullen looked down and noticed his breastplate was crusted with dried blood–both demonic and human. 

At that moment there was a scratch at the tent flap. Cullen looked up at Cassandra, who nodded and rose. “I will return later to see if there is anything you require. In the meantime, do try and take care of yourself.” She lifted the flap to admit Rylen. “Go on in, Knight-Captain . I was just leaving.”

“Ma’am.” Rylen shot off a salute before turning to hand Cullen the papers he held. “Casualty reports for you, Ser. Not nearly as bad as we’d thought, though there’s a few injured who may not last the day.”

“Thank you. I’ll need a quill and some parchment from my tent. I’ll write to the families here.” Rylen saluted and turned on his heel but stopped when Cullen called him back. “Some clean clothes and bathing water too, please.”

Rylen grinned. “I wasn’t going to say anything, Ser. But you smell worse than a druffalo pen in summer. Your girl’s not going to want to wake up to that. ” He grinned again and ducked out the tent.

Cullen looked down at a soft sigh from the bed and his heart quickened. Saibra was still pale, but something had changed. He gently laid his hand on her forehead and smiled. She was warm, but no warmer than you’d expect of someone camping out in a desert. The clamminess of the fever was gone, broken. He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek and strode out to call for Solas, wanting confirmation of what he already knew to be true.

His Saibra was coming back to him.


End file.
